Let me preface this by saying it's been four months since this trip. That's world-class procrastination for you. Life just got in the way, as it always does when I have a good story to tell. At any rate, it would be a shame not to write about one of my biggest (mis)adventures so far, so here goes.

I think we can all agree that I am the last person on earth who should be traipsing about Europe alone - I have no sense of direction, I don't talk to strangers, and I tend to focus on shopping instead of sightseeing. But when my boss suggested I take a week off work and extend my stay in Europe after a two-month business trip, I just couldn't say no. Nevermind that prior to this I thought all European cities are just a stone's throw away from each other Imagine my shock when confronted with a map of Europe: "What do you mean I can't reach Greece via train? Is that *water* separating Europe from the UK? And Finland? And Norway?!?".

Europe According to Gay Men, from alphadesigner.com
I had half a mind to create one for women, and then I remembered how terribly uncreative I am.

While I cherished every single (shopping) moment in Japan, sometimes I feel I was there too early - I was still clueless about makeup, my idea of a "designer bag" is Nine West, and GPS was only present in cars (read: self-navigation can only be performed via actual physical maps which for the life of me I cannot decipher).

But then again it's a good thing, because had I known all the amazing stuff the land of the rising sun has to offer, I would've gone home absolutely penniless, with nothing to show for a year's worth of hardwork but boxes upon boxes of random but wonderful things. Like, say, Hakuhodo brushes.

I've only ever used my oven toaster for grilling vegetables and, well, toasting bread. But as I've discovered the last couple of weeks, you can do so much more with it. Like, say, prepare an entire meal.

When the universe seems to spiral out of control, I clean. No, scratch that. I go on a reorganizing frenzy - empty out all of the contents of my drawers and cabinets and boxes and attempt to inject some sort of order, perhaps in an effort to regain just a teeny bit of control in at least one aspect of my life. So Friday saw me with this mess dumped on my bed.

I'm almost inclined to believe that I deserve everything that happened to me, because no one in their right mind would book a flight with AirPhil Express after that tiny slice of hell they put me through. But, well, I wasn't exactly in my right mind when I booked yet another fresh slice of hell.

I don't even know why I'm reliving this, but I guess it makes for a good story. A very long story. To be read only if you're in a good mood, as it is known to induce hypertension. Or it may make you feel better knowing there are idiots out there (read:me) who have it so much worse than you. Anyway.

So here's a happy photo of me, back in the day when airlines still made an effort to provide good customer service.